


Consulting Criminals Don't Get Sick

by Silvertongue_turned2_Lead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mormor Secret Santa 2014, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvertongue_turned2_Lead/pseuds/Silvertongue_turned2_Lead





	1. Chapter One

 

Jim Moriarty was a nightmare among the criminal underworld.  
Jim Moriarty was the great Consulting Criminal.  
He was a spider, a spectre, a demon, the devil.

He was sick.

And God did he hate it.

\------

Jim woke up one morning because he couldn’t breathe. He started to panic, reaching out only to gasp at the sheets of his bed. He shot upright, only to start to cough, big gasping coughs that shook his body and scratched at his throat. His initial panic bled into frustration at his physical predicament.

“Se-” his call was cut off by another fit of coughs. Once he had his breathing back under control, he forced down a painful swallow, a final attempt at clearing his throat. “Sebastian!” He managed to yell. After a few seconds passed, Sebastian Moran shuffled into the room. He had two mugs of tea, one steaming in each hand, and a small smile on his face.

“Well look who’s up before twelve o’clock.” The sniper joked to his lover. He was met with a glare that would put Medusa’s stare to shame. “Oh. Still a bit too early for you, yeah?”

Jim tried to croak out a “Sebastian,” but only half of the syllables managed to escape, nearly all of the vowels being turned into embarrassing squeaks. He wanted to claw out his treacherous throat. Jim Moriarty didn’t get _sick_ , and he certainly didn’t _squeak_. Sebastian’s eyebrows rose, the creases in his forehead causing a few of his facial scars to contract. He strode over to the bed, placing their tea down on the nightstand.

Sebastian sat down next to the crime connoisseur, who was currently looking more like a put-out toddler than a calculating killer.

“Jim, are you feeling alright?”

“Of course I’m not, moron.” It was hard for him to spit venom when he hardly had any spit. Sebastian chuckled at the threat that was little more than a whisper, and placed the back of his hand on Jim’s forehead. “Mmm, you’re burning up there, Jim.”

“Incredible. Are you sure you don’t need me to dial up Holmes to help you with that deduction?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Well, if you tried taking care of yourself more often, you might avoid getting colds.” His I-told-you-so statement caused Jim to let out a shriek of indignation.

“As my bodyguard, you should prevent me from getting sick!”

“Jim, that’s impossible. I can’t shoot _germs_. And Christ help me if I try to force you to eat or go to bed at a bloody decent hour.” Jim took in a shaky breath, only to let out a sneeze so strong that his nose burned afterwards.

“Seeebbbyyyyy~” The hitman sighed.

“Jim, I’m an assassin, not a doctor, for god's sake.” He scratched the back of his head. When he was met with Jim’s puppy eyes, he chuckled. Grabbing the cuppa he had made for the brunette, he placed it in Jim’s hands. “You drink this if you can, I’ll be back.” Sebastian placed a quick kiss on Jim’s forehead, and started to leave the room. Before he reached the door, Jim let out a whine.

“Where are you going?” He huffed. Sebastian turned to face him.

“I’m going to go get you some things for that cold. And you’re going to stay in bed,” he stated firmly.

“Are you giving me orders, Moran?” Jim smirked.

“Yes. If you don’t stay and bed and get some rest so you can beat this cold, I’m going to confiscate your laptop.” Jim’s eyes sparked up in anger before narrowing into a glare.

“You wouldn’t _dare,_ ” he hissed.

“Oh, I definitely would.” Sebastian left the room, calling out his goodbye. “Get some rest, you lunatic!”

“Piss off!” Sebastian wasn’t about to tell Jim Moriarty, who was his boss, by the way, what to do. And if Jim happened to finish his tea and then snuggle back under the covers, it certainly wasn’t because Moran told him too. And if he happened to fall back asleep, breathing through his mouth instead of his congested nose, it most definitely was not because he was conforming to his lieutenant’s wishes.


	2. Chapter Two

Sebastian had raided the nearest Tesco’s pharmaceutical aisle, grabbing bottles of vitamin C, Nyquil and Dayquil, packets of Emergency, a tub of vapor rub, several packages of different throat lozenges, and a bottle of ibuprofen in case Jim were to get any of his infamous migraines while he was down for the count. This was only the beginning of the common-cold starter pack he was building up. He paced up and down the aisles of the market, grabbing enough tissues to stuff a mattress, and as many cartons of orange juice that he thought could fit in their fridge. Sebastian even grabbed an electric blanket just so Jim could have another warm layer to wrap himself in.

The checkout total came out to be pretty impressive, but for the second-in-command of a criminal empire, it was essentially pocket change. Having spent most of his life having to scrounge for change just to order some take-out, Sebastian definitely viewed not having to worry about a price tag as a huge perk of the job. Sex sells, but murder sure does pay.

As soon as he had paid what he owed, he grabbed his bags and headed back out to his car. It took him only around twenty minutes to get back to the apartment building, the traffic being miraculously slim. With the assortment of pills and drugs in tow, Sebastian climbed up to the entrance of their flat, struggling with his keys only for a few seconds before slipping in. Not hearing any movement, he shuffled around the living area quietly. He had left the groceries on the counter in the kitchen, planning on checking how Jim was doing before he bothered to sort, stash and organize the cold remedies.

When he reached the doorway of Jim’s bedroom, Sebastian let out a quiet laugh. Despite his earlier complaints, Jim lie curled in on his side, totally asleep. Sebastian noticed he was breathing through his mouth, and chastised himself for forgetting to buy chapstick. Jim was sure to complain about peeling and scabbing lips as he fought through the cold.

_Ah, well,_ Sebastian thought to himself. He could always make another run to a corner store or something of the like if Jim’s whining were to get on his nerves. For now, he thought he had managed to cover most of the necessities. He returned to the kitchen, stealthily stocking the cupboards with all of the different medicines he had picked up, and placing the OJ in the fridge. At the moment, he thought it best to let Jim get at much sleep as he could. Once his boss woke up, then he would worry about which of the pharmaceuticals would be easiest to get Jim to take.

Settling down on the couch, Sebastian grabbed his iPod and the novel he was currently devouring. Since Jim hadn’t lined up any jobs for him that day, he planned on whatever down-time he could get for relaxing. Checking his watch, he popped in his earbuds, opened to the dog-eared page, (one of the habits that drove Jim absolutely nuts), and told himself that he would check on Jim in an hour. That was if he wasn’t awake and complaining before then.

\------

It had only been forty minutes when Sebastian was pulled out of his R+R. He had heard his name over the rock ballad that was playing, his music set to a low volume for a case just like this. He dog-eared the page he was on, pulling out the earbuds before switching off his iPod. Hearing his name called one more time, Sebastian started to head towards Jim’s room. Before he was even in the room, he heard the unmistakable noise of retching coming from the ensuite bathroom.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. Deciding it would be best to give Jim some space while his stomach rebelled against him, Moran headed to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass from the appropriate cupboard, and filled it with cold water from the tap. Orange juice would be pushing it on Jim’s most likely empty stomach. It was bad enough that he was throwing up, but considering the man barely ate as it was, it was best to stick to the basics.

Returning to the bedroom, Sebastian heard the flush of the toilet and the sink running before Jim reappeared in the room. He was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, looking paler than normal. An impressive feat for any Irishman. Seeing his lover in such a pathetic state sparked a rather motherly instinct in Sebastian. Placing the water on the nightstand, he crossed over to Jim and picked him up, one hand held behind his back and his other braced under Jim’s arse. Crossing back over to the side of the bed by the nightstand, Sebastian placed Jim back onto the sheets.

“Sebastian, you’re being ridiculous,” was the only protest he received for his efforts, and even then it was a half-hearted complaint from the consulting criminal.

“Jim, I need you to sit up and drink this water.” Jim was trying to squirm his way under the sheets, but abandoned his efforts when Sebastian tried to hand him the water.

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, tough. You just puked whatever little food you had in your stomach, and you need to rehydrate.” Jim narrowed his eyes at the water like it had offended him. He turned his glare to Sebastian when the sniper kept shoving it into his face.

“Boss, c’mon.” All he got was the glare. “If you don’t drink it of your own free will, I’ll have to force it down your throat,” he hissed. That was the wrong thing to say. Jim’s eyes, dulled a bit with sickness, sparked at the challenge.

“Oooooh really? And just _how_ do you think you’ll manage that?”

Sebastian had half a mind to hold him down and pour it on his face until the bastard swallowed some, but stopped the impulse. Jim could rile him up like nobody’s business. Most of the time, Sebastian thought he had hired him simply to have someone to torture on a daily basis. Returning the glass to the nightstand, Sebastian straightened up and turned to leave, shaking his head. The stubborn bastard would drink it eventually.

“If you need anything else, boss, let me know.” And with that, he returned to his book and music, leaving behind a rather put-out Jim Moriarty scowling under the covers.


	3. Chapter Three

Jim hadn’t felt this horrible in a while. Thinking back on it, he had felt better than this when he had been poisoned in an assassination attempt. At least then he was able to track down an antidote. No such luck for curing this bug that quickly. As soon as Sebastian had left the room, _Probably lying about enjoying his clear sinuses, the arse,_ Jim had downed the water in a few gulps. He had hoped that Sebastian would have made his morning a bit more interesting, but his lieutenant surrendered before he had even started anything. _How boring_ , Jim thought.

Begrudgingly, he admitted that his stomach and his throat felt a lot better after drinking the water, but he could hear the liquid slush around his stomach when he laid back down in the bed. Jim wanted to sneak out and grab his laptop, so as to work on some of his current projects, but Sebastian would merely send him back to bed as if he were a child. Getting more sleep wasn’t an option, as his stomach still felt like it was ready to relinquish the water back up his esophagus. If he didn’t have something to do soon, he was going to lose it.

It had been only a few minutes since his right-hand had left him to die of boredom, but Jim was nothing if but temperamental.

“Sebastian!” He called out. Jim paused for a moment, waiting for a response. When Sebastian didn’t come at his call, Jim pouted. “Oh Sebaaaaastian~,” Jim sang out. “I’m booooooored~”

At this, Sebastian came to stand in the frame of the door, arms crossed against his chest, a stern look on his face.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I don’t want to.”

Sebastian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care if you _want_ to or not, you won’t get better if you don’t get rest. Not only that, but you might be easier to deal with. Less grumpy.”

Jim scoffed. “I should rip that rebellious tongue out of your mouth.” Sebastian merely shrugged.

“You’re more than welcome to try, boss.”

At that, Jim was riled enough to do exactly that. He threw back the sheets and quickly stood up, a rather large miscalculation on his part. Jim was able to stalk only a few steps before his vision blacked out and he crumpled to the ground. He was barely aware of Sebastian calling out his name, and he snapped back to it once he felt the sniper’s hands lifting him off the ground. He lashed out, muttering a small “I’m fine” while he crawled up onto the bed himself. No doubt that Sebastian was watching over him like a worried mother, all sentiment and worry set on his face. It was just a flu, Jim wouldn’t be put out by something as simple as germs wreaking havoc on his internal wiring.

Jim had managed to wrestle himself back under the covers, but was noticeably out of breath, and shivering. The cold sweats had started to set in, and Jim was fed up with Sebastian’s coddling. He settled into the sheets, still shivering, with his back turned to his lieutenant. Jim knew that the man would inevitably fidget, and try to comfort him in some way, but to be perfectly honest, Jim felt to awful to give a damn. Sebastian could do what he liked.

Being preoccupied at his current physical state, Jim hadn’t even noticed that Sebastian had left the room, only to return with the electric blanket he had purchased. It wasn’t until he was nudged by his flatmate that he even recognized the man’s presence. Without a word, Sebastian helped Jim out of the bed, leaning him in the corner of the room so as to keep him from falling. The sniper then made quick work of stripping the bed, and then remaking it with the electric blanket among the layers. Flipping the switch on and then setting it to a medium heat, Moran then led Jim back to the bed, the criminal slapping his hands away so as to get in the bed by himself.

Jim had curled in on himself under the covers, already feeling a bit better under the extra layer. He could hear Sebastian retreating from the room, but he stopped him.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, boss?”

Jim had wanted to ask him to stay with him, and a battle raged within his head over whether he wanted to, dare he say it, _snuggle_ with his lieutenant, or if that were sickeningly-borderline-disgustingly sweet. After a moment, Jim had decided it was best to not let his cold tamper with his emotions.

“Bring me a glass of water, would you?”

Jim couldn’t see it from his position, but Sebastian gave a small, sad smile, having hoped Jim would’ve asked for something else.

“Sure thing, Jim.”


	4. Chapter Four

It had been going on four days of the consulting criminal suffering through the flu, and the two flat mates were both feeling frustrated. Jim was becoming more and more easily aggravated and lashed out out of boredom. Sebastian was getting fed up with catering to Jim’s ungrateful arse, and he was especially annoyed with having to dodge dishes, scalding hot liquids and even a knife that his boss would throw at him in a flare of temper.

It got to the point that Sebastian had piled up books and movies around Jim in bed, and he even gave his boss his prized laptop, all to try and avoid Jim wreaking havoc out of spite. When even those things didn’t placate his boss, and the one time he tried to slip sleeping medicine into Jim’s orange juice left him with a new laceration on his skin, Sebastian had had enough. On the fourth day of Sebastian waking up to Jim whining about being bored and refusing to go back to sleep, Sebastian stalked out of the room.

“Fine, fucking fine, Jim. If you don’t want to fucking hydrate or eat or rest your fucking pathetic arse, you won’t get better anytime soon.”

“Ooooooh~, look at Dr. Moran. Tell me, _doctor_ , where did you go to medical school?”

Sebastian let the snarky reply slide off, retreating to his room to dress in warm tactical gear and to clean his rifle. Whether Jim had a job for him or not, there was always someone willing to pay for a hit. If not, he would head down to the nearest pub and get absolutely pissed before he came back. He needed a goddamn break. Jim was worse than a sick toddler. At least a toddler would sleep and eat some damn soup.

When he was ready to go, Sebastian peeked in one more time into Jim’s room, his custom rifle concealed in a single-strap backpack, taken apart so as to not have to carry around in the hollowed-out guitar case he had.

“D’you need anything else, boss?”

Jim peeked out from under the covers, under which he was sulking like a child. Seeing how his sniper was dressed, he glared.

“Where are _you_ going?”

“Out,” Sebastian said through clenched teeth. Jim narrowed his eyes further.

“I haven’t given you any jobs.”

“That’s the great thing about being a gun-for-hire, Jim. I get to shoot some random bastard and get paid for the deed by another bastard.”

“Don’t forget you’re _my_ employee, Moran,” Jim spat.

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good you are, Mr. Moriarty, sir. You’ve been sitting in bed for four days pouting like a bloody child. I’m sick of trying to help you and merely getting soup splashed into my face for my efforts. So I’m going out to put some bullets in some skulls, smoke a cig or five and then I’m going to get fucking pissed at the first pub I come across.” Without waiting for any response, Sebastian about-faced, some habits die hard, and stalked to the exit of the flat.

“You are not to leave this flat, Moran!” Sebastian rolled his eyes at Jim’s screech.

“Sebastian!” Jim yelled, his voice breaking on the last syllable.

The only answer he received was the lock of the door.


	5. Chapter Five

Sebastian had been gone for nearly six hours, and Jim was furious. The crime lord had thrown a rather vicious tantrum for fifteen minutes after the sniper had left the flat, breaking and defacing nearly anything he could get his hands on. The only reason Jim had even cut it off after fifteen minutes was because he became lightheaded and out of breath, the cold still largely affecting his physicality.

While he sat on the sofa breathing heavily, his warpath having led him to the living room, he fumed over Sebastian’s blatant betrayal. Under contract, the very contract Jim Moriarty had drawn up himself, Moran was not allowed to entertain any other employers, temporary or otherwise, or risk punishment from the boss himself. The logical side of Jim’s consciousness told him that he wouldn’t really punish the sniper, and that Sebastian would more likely than not break contract either. If the tiger were to go on a hunt, it would be for his own sport and on his own terms.

The problem was that Jim’s rather primal side of his brain had been stewing in frustration and boredom for too long. Jim managed to entertain himself for a good half hour of visions of punishing the rebellious lieutenant. Ironically, his violent fantasies had successfully calmed him down enough to assess the damage of his fit, shrug off the mess, and make his way back to bed. Vandalising half of a flat had effectively drained the murderer of any extra energy he had gained from being bed-ridden for half of a week.

Sebastian had added the electric blanket into the array of sheets at some point, and Jim switched it on, goosebumps having risen on his flesh and a few shivers traveling their way across his spine and limbs. He ungracefully plopped down onto the bed, gathering the sheets and blankets around him in a cocoon of comfort. Jim waited for his sniper to return, but was lulled asleep by his cozy setting.

Sebastian entered the flat at one in the morning, a grand total of eight hours spent outside and away from Jim’s antics. Although he hadn’t taken any hits, he had managed a good fight behind one of the pubs he visited on his impromptu adventure. He won a few games of cards that lined his pockets with a nice handful of bills, and he essentially had a free night on the town. Which meant Sebastian Moran came into the flat utterly pissed and with a little bit of adrenaline still ebbing through his veins.

All this meant that the renowned sniper was sloppily struggling to and through the apartment. If he hadn’t been so inebriated, Sebastian would probably have been absolutely furious at the damage his petty boss had wrought upon their living space. Under the current circumstances, however, he simply added to the mess by breaking a few mugs while trying to get a glass of cold water. After downing the water in a few desperate gulps, some of the liquid trickling down his face.

The veteran eventually managed to stumble into his bedroom, stripping down to just his pants and practically faceplanting into the bed. He shuffled into a more comfortable position, and was soon asleep in a heartbeat. His clothes were strewn about the room, his backpack with his concealed rifle was tossed into a far corner, and a large pair of brown eyes were watching the now unconscious colonel from the other side of the bed.


	6. Chapter Six

Jim had watched the whole thing: the fumbling, the muttered cursing, the struggle the lieutenant went through to undress, and the rather ungraceful flop into the mattress. On any other day, Jim would have kicked the man out of spite, possibly for the small show of the trained assassin thrashing in confusion, but he was sick, and Sebastian was sinfully warm. So whether out of sentiment or out of fatigue, Jim cuddled up to the sniper.

At first, Jim hesitated to reach out, not wanting to risk alerting the man that he wasn't alone. After a minute of deliberation, Jim scooted close enough that it was almost possible for him to count Sebastian’s eyelashes. As far as views went, Jim thought it was rather nice. He languidly followed the scars that criss-crossed over his lieutenant's face, many of them being Jim’s own handiwork.

Despite himself, Jim reached out and traced the scar that ran from the man’s eyebrow to his lip. IT was one of Jim’s favorites, although it wasn't one of his own. Sebastian barely flinched, the alcohol putting aside his killer instincts. Jim didn't know what made the man stick around for so long. Contract or not, Jim put the man through hell, and yet all Moran ever did was muscle through it and then ask fro more. A sadist like Jim was bound to run into a masochist, but he had never thought he would have one at his fingertips.

Jim wasn't a stranger to the sniper sharing his bed either. Whether it were a consequence of their shared arousal post-crime or, more often than not, Jim’s manipulation, he and the sniper had shared a bed a handful of times. The reason that Jim was so captivated by the drunk gun for hire by his side was beyond even his comprehension. It made Jim want to tear Sebastian apart, needing to know what made the man so inexplicably appealing.

Without realizing it, Jim had fallen asleep against Sebastian’s side. His circumstances were only discovered when he woke up to the room lit up by the morning sun. The consultant had luckily woken up before his bed-mate, but that meant nothing when said bed-mate had a hold of Jim. At some point in the night, Sebastian had wound one of his arms around the smaller man, an affectionate embrace that sent a small alarm blaring in the back of Jim’s mind.

There were two scenarios that could play out. Either Jim could squirm his way free as slowly and and softly as possible so as not to wake Sebastian and have none the wiser about what-could-have-been, or Jim could stay. Jim could stay, and let Sebastian wake up to find them wrapped together, and let whatever happens happen, no manipulation or dishonesty involved. Obviously, the first scenario was more Jim’s style, but for once he had his doubts. For once, Jim Moriarty didn't know what to do.

And Jim would never know what to do, because Sebastian started to wake, something that in all his foresight, Jim had not planned on. His right hand was an early riser, but he had assumed the way the man had reeked of alcohol that he would've at least slept in a few hours or so. Not that Jim knew what time it was, but it couldn't have been that late in the morning, could it?

While Jim had been grasping at trying to figure out why Sebastian was waking up, the process had already ended. Jim didn't even notice how still the arm around him went or how the man was looking at him, now wide awake seeing the position he was in.

“Jim?”


	7. Chapter Seven

Blue eyes met brown, and if the two had had any poetic prowess, they could’ve argued that time froze. Sebastian was waiting for the inevitable crass comment and a punishment doled out for the rather _familiar_ way he was wrapped around his boss. Jim was waiting for Sebastian to say something, whether it were to brush off their position with a joke or to spout something rather emotional and cliche. Waiting for the other to make the first move left them at a standstill.

It was only after several minutes passed that Sebastian thought to remove his arm from around Jim’s waist. He did so slowly, afraid that the moment would be ruined if he moved too quickly, too roughly. Still, neither criminal nor hit man said anything. A bomb could have gone off, and neither of them would have flinched.

Sebastian decided to step up to the challenge, clearing his throat as a way to snap both of them out of it.

“Sorry, er, boss. I...must’ve thought this was my bed last night.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head with the arm that had been previously holding Jim. The consultant didn't respond, simply watching Sebastian.

“I should….go?” Despite his comment, Sebastian didn't move.

“Was that rhetorical?” Jim asked.

“I guess that depends on your answer.”

Sebastian expected to be dismissed, expected to be kicked or pushed out of bed without hesitation. He sure as hell didn't expect Jim to grab the back of his neck and pull him into a mind-blowing kiss. He would have never expected that. But it happened, and it was like Jim had flicked on a switch. Sebastian grabbed his boss and rolled the smaller man on top of him, never breaking the kiss. Whether he was still dreaming or whether he would be punished for it later, Sebastian was going to take what he was given, and push for more until he was stopped.

The kiss was the last thing he expected, but he was going to give it his all, not sure when the next opportunity would present itself. Jim had both of his hands on either side of his face, not leaving the sniper with any doubts that he had wanted this as much as he did. Sebastian cradled Jim’s hips with his own hands, letting the criminal take charge of the kiss, just grateful that he was even allowed this gift.

And it was a gift. Jim was worshiping him with his mouth, his tongue painting Sebastian’s mouth, his teeth nipping at Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian was so focused on Jim’s mouth that it took him awhile to notice that Jim was rutting against him. Once it clicked, the assassin sprang into action. Letting out a low growl, Sebastian decided that it was his turn.

He rolled the two of them over, careful not to crush Jim. With the man pinned beneath him, Sebastian was able to show his boss _exactly_ how he felt. He broke the kiss, trailing down Jim’s neck with licks and nips. When he came to the man’s collar, he lifted up the shirt’s hem, placing the material past Jim’s head, but effectively trapping his arms. Sebastian continued worshiping the pale body, placing love bites all the way down, amused by all of the sounds Jim made in response.

Jim was thrashing the closer he came to the waistline of his sweatpants, which was understandable, giving the obvious fact of Jim’s arousal being that much closer to Sebastian’s mouth. The sniper smirked, relishing the way Jim was more or less at his mercy. Pulling down the smaller man’s sweatpants, he mouthed at Jim’s erection through the material of his pants, planning on driving Jim completely mad before he got him off.

Sebastian gently removed the unwanted barrier, licking his lips before he looked back up at Jim. He was nearly knocked free of the air in his lungs at what he saw. He had always thought of Jim as handsome but this: eyes nearly black with lust, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, lips red from where he was biting down to try and keep himself quiet, arms above his head with a white-knuckle grip on the headboard, he was _gorgeous_.

Making sure that Jim was watching, he slowly slid onto Jim’s cock, taking him as far down as he could. Jim’s moan only made Sebastian even more determined to unwind his boss as slowly as possible. Sliding up and down Jim’s shaft, he set an achingly slow rhythm, holding Jim’s hips down so as to avoid the criminal interrupting his ministrations.

It didn't take long to send Jim over the edge, with careful nips, suck, licks and swirls of his tongue, Sebastian had effectively undone the consulting criminal, reducing him to a writing, moaning mess of a man. After swallowing Jim’s load, he pulled himself up to lie next to the man he had just catered to. They were both a bit sweaty, and Jim was still tangled up in his shirt, which Sebastian smoothed back down over the man’s head.

He pulled Jim flush to his chest, a pose reminiscent of what had caused the unexpectedly marvelous morning. Sebastian placed a chaste kiss on Jim’s forehead, and with a little amusement lowered his head to whisper in Jim’s ear.

“Why Jim, it looks like you broke your fever.”

\------

Jim had never expected his action to have had such delightful consequences. They would never be domestic, never have any heartfelt words exchanged or solemn promises made, but neither expected that. It was a step in itself that Jim had shown his affection for the other man, and it was even more important that neither had run away from their feelings, whether literally or not. Jim may have been a bit apprehensive about what this meant for the both of them, but at the moment he couldn't be bothered.

He had just received a rather spectacular blow job after all.

And for the moment, Jim was more than happy to stay in Sebastian’s arms, post-orgasm bliss reducing him to little more than putty in his sniper’s hold. He smiled at Sebastian’s comment about his fever, not commenting on the inaccuracy of the method. Jim wanted to hold on to the moment as long as he could. It was a lazy morning, one that left the two men feeling like they could take on the world. Neither moved, completely content with just lying with each other in the afterglow. Soon there would be business to attend to, crimes to commit and all sorts of atrocities to plan. So for a very brief, beautiful time, the two most dangerous men in London found solace in one another.

With the lifestyle the two led, that morning would cause a multitude of problems. If anyone were to find out about the two of them, it could mean a lot of trouble for the pair. It would inevitably lead to threats, manipulations, and all their enemies trying to get revenge on one through the harm of the other.

But that was another problem for another time.

For now, Jim was content tracing the stripes on his tiger’s pelt, the magpie enraptured by his secret treasure.


End file.
